


The Season Changes

by Quillaninc



Series: Evolving Through Seasons [2]
Category: Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-26
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillaninc/pseuds/Quillaninc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The eyes that stared at him from within the oppressiveness of his dream for once weren't blue. And the hair falling across them was rich and dark and cut raggedly to the shoulders, rather than curling in long, pale ribbons of silk that whipped about in a breeze that didn't exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Season Changes

The eyes that stared at him from within the oppressiveness of his dream for once weren't blue. And the hair falling across them was rich and dark and cut raggedly to the shoulders, rather than curling in long, pale ribbons of silk that whipped about in a breeze that didn't exist.

The hand beckoning him would almost fit to his, broad palmed with strong, capable fingers marred by work and life. He was used to a more fragile, softer one; a hand that would be lost if engulfed in his, not one that could cradle his own safely between those palms and protect it.

His eyelids flickered restlessly, a murmur of unease working its way loose as his imagination resurrected the image of smiling, knowing lips that would never be pink and lush. The voice that spoke was husky with a worldly-wise air as it called for him to follow, not deep but certainly not the delicate bell tones he would usually hear in this dream.

He knew where this was heading, and he didn't want to go there. Didn't want to add yet another face to the gallery of those who had passed through his tormented nights. Didn't want to think about what it could mean for him, if _he_ was there, overlaid across the images of his mother, of Allura.

His heart beat rapidly as he could feel himself being pulled further and further away by an inexorable vortex he couldn't control. He couldn't tell if the cry that tore from him was confined within the dream or if it had echoed about his room, and for the moment it didn't matter because the fear of what was rushing rapidly towards him was strong, so strong.

The shadows around them began to darken, melding, blending together, and an icy shiver rippled through him. He tried to fight against it, to _win_ this battle, just _once_, but yet again the trees around him warped and grew, malicious claws reaching, holding him back. Another cry ripped from his throat as desperation strangled him.

The other's hand reached for him, calling. The gesture was familiar, too familiar. Despair clutched at him; would the pattern never break? Would he always be destined to have his heart shattered time and again while his mind tormented him like this?

But this time, as the dark form grew to take a shape eerily like his father's, and echoes of malevolent laughter rose around them, it wasn't fear he saw in the eyes staring at him. The same warm understanding that had met his confusion in the cold night air of Allura's garden gazed back at him, as strong and focused as ever.

The broad, hard-worked hand stretched towards him again, even as the darkness began to engulf its owner. A new fear trembled through his body - something lay there on that outstretched palm, something that pulsed with a slow, steady glow.

The dream was changing, and this time it was the fear of the unknown rather than the familiar that gripped him.

The chilling laughter remained, and the ominous, threatening darkness. So, too, remained the unnatural hands holding him back, and the spears and menacing figures and the spilled wine that shimmered like blood, all these stayed the same.

But amongst this glowed a light that spread and grew beyond the hand that reached out for him urgently. Gradually, the shadows fell away, and the light shone so bright it pierced his eyes, forcing him to look away.

Then two hands reached out of the brightness and took hold of his. A pair of eyes so pale they had almost no colour at all were smiling at him as the source of the light was pressed to his palms and his fingers were folded every so gently over it. He gazed down at his closed hands, not understanding its significance.

Again, his heart pounded hard in his chest, but this time it was a strange, new kind of pain that lanced through it. It felt like old, dead tissue being torn away, in order for the new to live. And still the object in his hands glowed.

Slowly, the world around him returned to normal. The shadows fled, no longer threatening the edges of his dream. The forest faded away to nothing, and slowly, ever so slowly, the light that had saved him from his nightmare realm dissipated, leaving behind just one thing, cradled carefully in his hands.

Cautiously, he opened them. Inside was a crystal snowflake.

With a gasp, he awoke.

~ owari ~

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by canon *gasps*. Actually, Lotor's dream has always held a strong fascination for me - this just gave me another avenue to play with.


End file.
